


maybe we've met before (maybe we'll meet again)

by ansonwish



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Allusions to canon events, Banter, Developing Friendships, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, slightly an au?, theyre not dating yet theyre just being assholes together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 13:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18235790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansonwish/pseuds/ansonwish
Summary: they make it about an hour, mumbling scathing commentary back and forth and laughing at the terrible clichés that litter the film. they handle the dramatics like champions, at least they certainly think they do.henry and ted conspire to ruin the evening for everyone who isn't them.





	maybe we've met before (maybe we'll meet again)

**Author's Note:**

> written to fill a sweet little prompt i was sent on tumblr: "henry and ted don't know each other, go see a movie separately, end up sitting next to each other. they silently critique the film to one another. they get louder as the movie gets worse and eventually get kicked out."

It almost makes him feel young again, leaving his house with a new bounce in his step that he swore he had lost to the decades. Though as a younger man, he did not spend twenty minutes with his hands on the steering wheel, the car quiet all around him, head bowed. Maybe this is the wrong move. His therapist suggested he try to leave the house for more than just work. Do something he might enjoy for once. So he decides to waste ten dollars and see a movie. His therapist sounded rather proud of him, though Henry felt almost embarrassed that this was the peak of his month.

Numbers upon numbers file into the theatre. He counts them in time with his breathing. It's a lot more than he anticipated. The movie theatre in Hatchetfield was small, and Tuesday’s were cheaper, so every family that wanted to see something came out at the same time with the same plan as him. Crowds make him anxious. His brain tells him this was a poor choice. He has been spending most of his life listening to his brain because he doesn't have anything better to listen to anymore. If he’s being honest, it’s the one thing he feels he is really good at.

Eventually, when his legs decide they're going to do more than restrict him to the confines of his car, he moves into the theatre, stands on the tacky carpeting that could have felt quite at home at the bowling alley, staring as the line to buy tickets shrinks. He opts not to buy food. Adding anything like a pound of movie theatre popcorn to an already uneasy stomach was like trying to use a canister of gasoline to put out a fire. Thanks to his brain’s already muddled state, he stutters out the name of the movie he can barely remember to the poor teenager working the ticket counter. He swears he hears him chuckle. Hardly news. Henry couldn't manage in most public spaces without humiliating himself somehow, so he isn't bothered like he might have been twenty years ago. 

The room is absolutely packed. He scans the small area of seats. Hatchetfield wasn't lucky enough to have the big chain theatres that Clivesdale had, just a humble local place that was too small for the population to handle. There's open seats in the middle of rows, covered in coats and purses. Like hell is he about to shuffle past people just to ask others to move their stuff off of the chairs. There's one open aisle seat, because nobody takes an aisle seat in a theatre unless they absolutely have to. To Henry’s absolute dismay, there's someone in the seat next to it, but it is all he has. Swallowing the lump in his throat, not reaching for the flask he had tucked in his blazer pocket, he tries to put some bravery in his step. 

“May I?” There's no bravery when he has to raise his voice to even be heard over the busy room engaged in their own conversations. The man turns his head, eyeing Henry rather harshly, but he shrugs his shoulders and makes a flippant gesture to the seat next to him. Henry thanks him and sits down, attempting to make himself as small as possible so as to not disturb the man.

“This doesn't seem like your type of movie.” The man next to him says, his nose buried in his phone screen. Henry turns his head, tapping his fingers on the armrest. 

“What?” Henry hardly knows what he’s seeing. He didn't read the plots beforehand. He just picked something at random. 

“Romance? I just don't see many, y’know, old guys by themselves in movies like this.” Henry raises a brow. He didn't even know it was a romance movie at all. That serves him right. “Not trying to call you old or anything. You know what I mean.”

“No offence taken. And what, pray tell, is your excuse? Or am I rushing to judge your taste in movies?” 

“Fuck no, man. I hate all this romance shit. I had a date, she blew me off for her husband, I already paid and I’m not letting this popcorn I got go to waste.” The man shakes the paper bag, some accidentally spills out onto the floor, though from the state of it, Henry considers it just another speck in a much greater mess. Places like this always touched his paranoia in the worst ways. 

“Her—” he wants to question the story of the man arranging a movie date with a married woman, but it isn't his place to judge. “Never mind. I suppose you are much kinder about these sorts of things than I would be.”

“I’m a forgiving person.” Is all the stranger offers in reply. Henry cannot say he is anything of the sort. “I’m Ted, by the way. Guess we’re stuck next to each other for two hours.”

“Henry.” He says with a nod. “I suppose so, Ted.”

The lights fade on the room. Like a candle being snuffed out, the conversation dies as soon as the room is dark. The trailers for other films begin to roll, as they always do, and Henry hears Ted snort as a trailer for an overblown action movie rolls. Must not be a fan of those either, Henry assumes. Part of him wishes he was smart enough to smoke before the movie started. Part of him wants to reach for his flask. All of him knows that that is a bad idea. Though he doubts Ted is the type to be so morally pure as to rat on him, he does not think the same of anyone else around him. He pushes the urge to the back of his mind and makes a mental note to bring that up next week to his therapist. 

The movie actually starts in a swell of strings and soft glittery sound effects that don't fit the dreary looking street the film opens up on. That coaxes another snort out of Ted. Henry smiles at the juxtaposition of it all. Perhaps it was just cinematic vision. Movies were not Henry’s first choice in terms of entertainment, so he didn't claim to understand their narrative tropes as well. 

“It's always so fake. This meet-cute shit. Nobody meets anybody like that. It's always fucking stilted and awkward because nobody’s that smooth. Except me, but nobody else.” Ted rushes to defend his reputation to someone who doesn't even know he has one. It's rather odd. 

“You think so?” Over almost sixty years of living, Henry could count on one hand the number of romantic partners he’d had. He could not say he understood tropes they showed in movies when his love life was so slight. It was kind of sad, really. “I don’t personally believe in things like this. Films like to accomplish more than what’s real, so they fabricate scenarios that nobody else has.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Ted says, his voice low, but the person behind them still shushes them anyway. Henry turns and apologizes to them, but can't help the smile on his face as he looks back at the large screen. “They're just wish fulfillment for couples who can't stand to be around each other for more than ten minutes.”

“Escapism?”

“I guess so.” Ted takes a sip off of his drink, rattling the ice around. They sit in silence, watching the most generic male protagonist Henry has ever seen work a day job about as riveting as his personality. There is no substance to this film, Henry notes. It hangs off of other people’s expectations for romance, something that Hollywood made up to make money off of.

“Oh my god. Do something!”

“Ted!” Henry hisses, watching as eyes shift to look at the heckling.

The entire room is staring at him, which capitalizes on at least three things Henry is scared of. Eventually everyone turns away when they feel like they have scolded Ted thoroughly. He hardly looks bothered when Henry’s gaze shifts over to him, taking another obnoxiously loud drink. Normally behaviour like that would bother Henry, especially since the room was so busy, but he smiles as Ted shakes his cup, listening to the ice move around. There is nothing stimulating about the movie he’s watching. It's boring, not even funny, and yet the audience around him is absolutely engrossed in the screen. It's almost tooth-rotting to be a single man in the room plagued with married couples on their date night. Ted seems to have given up on the idea of being polite, instead opting to do as much as possible to be a nuisance. Loudly he pulls open a package of Skittles and shakes them into the popcorn, then he shakes the bag around to mix it. That little display is met with another harsh shush from the person behind them.

“Hey, jagoff, I’m mixing my fucking food, so can you lay off?” The look in the eyes of the couple behind them is absolutely priceless. Henry bites his knuckle to keep from laughing. 

They make it about an hour, mumbling scathing commentary back and forth and laughing at the terrible clichés that litter the film. They handle the dramatics like champions, at least they certainly think they do. Henry has to keep his hand close to his mouth at all times to stifle laughs when Ted cracks another wise comment or takes a very loud drink from the cup that he emptied twenty minutes ago, getting the remnants of melting ice from the bottom. They make it to what Henry assumes is supposed to be a sad scene where the horrible protagonist misses the train his beloved was taking to another state. Context clues tell him that rain is supposed to make it sad. But it isn't, and when the leading actor cries, Henry and Ted both can't contain themselves. They burst into laughter just watching the dramatics. 

“Oh my god, you fucking loser!” Ted calls out, cupping his hand to his mouth to be heard. Heads whip around to face them again, scorn painted in watering eyes and sniffles. 

Henry does not typically enjoy theatre experiences, no matter the circumstances. Movie theatres in the first place were always too loud. In Hatchetfield, you had to go at very specific times on very specific days to avoid the crowds of families or couples or people who had nothing better to do and wanted to waste their money. Perhaps he was experiencing movies all wrong. He was having more fun than he ever had when he was barely experiencing the movie at all and instead engaging in riveting conversation about the poor quality of said movie. 

“You know, they always do shit like this in these movies. One last wrench to beat over my fucking head that these poor saps have it so tough.” Ted checks his phone discreetly. Apparently he has enough respect not to make his phone screen apparent, which Henry finds rather funny. In response to the time, he lets out a groan. “We still have like an hour left. They're gonna drag this shit out.”

“Perhaps. It’s common in films like this to offer obstacles, but I feel as though they're doing it too soon.” 

“This whole film has been obstacles, man. I don't think they know any other plot point besides fucking with this guy’s love life.” Ted picks a piece of popcorn and throws it in the air, moving his head to catch it perfectly. 

“Impressive. Though it is rather juvenile, is it not?” 

“Juvenile? Don't trash my skills, grandpa. Open up. I wanna see you do better.” 

Henry shakes his head, but Ted is completely serious, throwing another piece of popcorn in the air. With very little effort, Henry catches it, but nearly chokes on it at the last second. He coughs into his sleeve.

“See? It's an art and I’ve perfected it. Don't hate the player just because you can't play.” Ted nudges him with his elbow. 

“You’re childish sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?” Henry laughs, shaking his head.

“Maybe you're just too uptight. You’ve been on this planet this long and nobody’s taught you how to live?” Exchanging barbs, they're both unable to stop themselves from cracking up, taking no offence at the light jabs they send the others way.

“Gentlemen,” comes a voice in their conversation that sounds very unfamiliar. Ted and Henry both turn and meet eyes with a very displeased theatre usher, and Henry catches sight of the smug faces of the couple sitting behind them out of the corner of his eye. “You’ve been non-stop for an hour, you’re getting people angry, it's a busy night. I gotta ask you to leave.”

“It’s no problem, sir. I apologize for the actions of my companion.” Henry is quick to sell Ted out, but Ted offers only a distraught look. 

“You’re blaming this all on me, old man? Fuckin’ narc.” Ted grabs his jacket and pulls it on, tucking his phone into his pocket again and grabbing the popcorn he hadn't finished. Henry bundles his jacket up in his arms, not bothering to put it back on, and steps past the guard. “Bet you’re really pleased with yourself, huh?” Ted challenges the couple again, making himself the antagonist to their theatre-going experience. “Hope you guys enjoy the rest of this shitshow.” He clicks his tongue and flips them off.

“Why were you so persistent toward that couple? They were only asking you to be quiet.” Henry asks, though he won't pretend he didn't find Ted’s dramatic departure funny. 

“Whatever. They were on my case. I just told them what I’m thinking.” Ted pushes the door open, blinking to readjust his eyes to the lighting. “I didn't trust them. They went to see that movie willingly, so that's already strikes one and two.”

“Some people enjoy that kind of thing, Ted.” Henry says, fixing his jacket sleeves, still unable to believe that, for the first time in his life, he did something that warranted being kicked out. Not that he always played by the rules, especially not when he was much younger, but this had been a line he had never overstepped before. There is something oddly enjoyable about the face of the usher as he shuffles past them, shaking his head like a father disappointed in the behaviour of his children. “Perhaps it isn't our place to judge other people’s tastes.”

“But it is our place to ruin date night. I got my date fucked over; why do they get to be happy? I just wanted to have a little fun.” Ted plucks another piece of popcorn out of the bag and throws it up into the air. Henry catches it without batting an eye. This time, he doesn't choke. “Hey, there you go, man, you finally got it.”

“What was it you said about being unable to play the game?”

“Don't get an ego here. This is just fun. You're still not better than me at this.” Ted gives him another nudge with the point of his elbow, harshly prodding Henry’s ribs. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. I’m already over looking at this place.”

Henry smiles again, agreeing quickly with a nod. He doesn't know what else to say, so he steals a piece of popcorn from Ted and tosses it in the air. Ted cranes his neck, takes one step back and catches it like it’s the only thing his brain knows how to do. It's quite impressive, if not a little childish, but Henry supposes he can't play the maturity card when he’s engaging just the same. The door to the theatre opens and they're met with a warm breeze and a setting sun. It's much more enjoyable than whatever that was in the theatre. Or perhaps not. Nobody offers a word to the other. Ted says nothing, just clears his throat and stares across the parking lot at nothing in particular. 

“I’m gonna bounce. Hit a bar or something. Find someone else to keep me company.” Ted says, tucking the hand that isn't holding his snacks into his jacket pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you around. Hatchetfield’s not that big. Surprised I haven't seen you before.”

There's discomfort in Henry’s stomach that wasn't there before. Nobody sees him except people who needed to see him, like his students, like other staff at the college, but he kept himself secure beyond the walls of the school. If the night was any indication, he wasn't going to be going out alone for a while. Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice, after all. He preferred safety where it was offered. Letting his guard down would make for an interesting story to tell at his next session, but it would hardly be something he would be so willing to do again. He feels almost guilty that he doubts he will ever see Ted again, unless it is by some miracle. 

“Perhaps I will see you around, Ted.” It's very dismissive, not wanting to linger too hard on the idea of being seen again. It is something that will bite at Henry for the next few days, another drop of water in already overfilled bucket. 

“Yeah, man, sure, sure. Have a, uh, a good night.” The words are unsure, almost stammered out, like a hammer swinging and cracking the near indestructible portrayal of confidence. Henry reads people very poorly, he knows, but he’s smart. He sees when Ted falters. 

“You as well.”

The parking lot is dead quiet. Henry doesn't want to stress himself out anymore when he starts getting nervous about the silence. Ted walks away after a bit of uncomfortable silence. Henry wishes he’d said something more polite. But it was no matter. He was trying to not let the details bother him, even if he really could not stop them. Perhaps it was just another miniscule thing to regret about life, but then again, he had enough of those to last him a lifetime. It's a lonely but peaceful walk across the parking lot to his car, watching as Ted, or who he assumes must be Ted, drive out of the lot, giving the horn a honk as he passes Henry. He waves to the passing vehicle, hoping, honest to goodness hoping, that Ted saw him. 

Perhaps, Henry thinks, leaning against the car door, trying to avoid the absolute plague of intrusive thoughts that start piling in when he feels as though he did something he will regret, he will see Ted again. He just prays it's in a situation that he won't live to regret this time. 


End file.
